It's Never The End, Not Really
by Please.Insert.Name
Summary: There is no end, no beginning, only events, and an order in which they transpire. Doyle is dead, she is safe, but it isn't over, far from it in fact.


_'Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires.'_  
><em>~Francois de La Rochefoucauld<em>

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><p>She looked around, her eyes blazing with determination, setting the dark orbs on fire, and scalding the man they were directed at. The lights of the foreign city glowed, the light pollution casting a halo around them, but this place was less than holy.<p>

Seven months.

Seven months she had been hunting him. Moving through cities, villages and countries. Stalking her prey. Preparing to strike. It hadn't been easy. She hadn't expected it to be. Her gun levelled, pointing towards the man she was disgusted to once call her lover, she gazed steadily at him, pinning him under the weight of her scrutiny.

They were in the city of Bruges. A picturesque place, with quaint little shops for the ever busy tourist industry. He had been running, but he hadn't anticipated that she would catch up to him.

Or that she was even alive.

It was fitting almost that he would die here, a place rich in history and almost as bloodstained as their own, the medieval architecture giving it a sombre atmosphere. The tourists were asleep, dreaming of sightseeing and travels. All around her was silence. No sound breached the area that would be their final showdown.

One might say it is as quiet as the grave. It was most certainly _not_ her grave.

The waves lapped gently at the boat as they made their way up the quiet canal. The helmsman was dead at her feet. A casualty, but also a man she had once called her friend. Liam had always been suspicious of her, and as she moved closer to her prey, she had to agree with his deduction.

"Emily Prentiss, you are indeed a mystery," laughed Doyle. He knew he was a dead man, but he had always known what the outcome of his lifestyle could bring. A bullet, right to the heart.

She gave him this, watching as the laughter stayed on his face. His death mask etched forever on his skin.

Mooring the boat, and tying it to one of the many metal rings that littered the canal walls, she leapt off the barge, landing catlike on the towpath. The night hid her, the pale moon barely reaching her as she was sheltered by the shadows of the aged buildings. Not sparing the canal one last glance, she headed down a disused alleyway, the only presence was the stars gazing down at her, seeing her victory. They twinkled, shining more brightly than she had seen in a long time. However, they were also marred by light pollution. A stain on their celestial beauty.

She wondered what the team would think. She would drop back into their lives, and to her it would be as if she had never been gone.

But even that was a lie, and it never took the profiler in her to recognise that.

However, she was more concerned about him. It had been seven months with no word except the odd phone call. A phone call wasn't enough, it never was, and part of her just wanted to reach out and touch him, before she reminded herself that he was in Virginia, and she was hunting, forever on the move.

She wasn't alone in her travels, however. With her she carried questions, forever hounding her, and disrupting her peace. Would he accept her? Would he still love her? Had he moved on? They came to her in the night, disturbing her dreams, interfering with her mind. In truth they scared her, more than she had been scared of Doyle.

However, now, after so long, it was time to get the answers.

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><p>He knew it was her. Not that there was anything distinctive about her knock, it was just a simple rap on worn wood, nothing special. But this was special. She had returned.<p>

Placing down the tumbler of scotch - a liquor that by this point he was well acquainted with - he moved towards the door, padding across the cream carpet quickly, before grasping the cool brass of the door handle.

She stood on his doorstep. Her eyes contained a slightly far away look, but also a hint of fear. He knew she was worried if he wouldn't accept her, be disgusted by the murderess she had become. However, she needn't have feared. As he enveloped her in his strong arms, he squashed those worries, sent them scuttling to a dark corner of her mind. He breathed in her sweet scent, his nostrils that had once been desensitised to it now experiencing it in a wave that sent his heart beating faster than it had in a long, long time.

The team would wonder why she was back. Be stung by the betrayal that they had been dealt. But as she was led inside, none of them cared. As they took the night to themselves, they barely spared a thought for tomorrow. It would come as it always did, bringing with it the warm sunrise, but instead of thinking of the next day, they thought of the present. The storm would come, but this was their time and it could wait.

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><p><em>AN: This was initially an add-on to my story These Burdens We Must Bear, which is Hotch's reaction to Emily's departure, however, reading it over again, I felt it was out of place, and so after a few modifications have made it into a one-shot. If you want you can read the other story, but this can stand alone, the other merely focuses on their relationship, and the disruption Doyle has caused._

_Important Note: I've never been to Bruges, if there are any errors in my description please let me know :)_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds._

_I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this chapter._

_Please Review!  
><em>


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